poem: party with the optimists

they were drinking fast confetti wine pink
taffeta hands they say do you consider
anything sacred fuck that i say
fuck that and the dawn melts
city lights bombs my bra
strap caught call me a taxi wait
he says the cocaine still flush wait
you were such a slut for
idealism flares of art eventually i say
lighting the cigerette shaky bright
face the insane rollicking
people believing and taking
everything as is as eventually
the girl waiting dies the cork comes
off soft moans i have nothing
sacred that is how i survive.